


"Things you said..."

by morningsound15



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Pitch Perfect (Movies), The 100 (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alcohol, F/F, First Kiss, Fluff and Humor, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Light Angst, Light Smut, Long-Distance Relationship, Minor Violence, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Platonic Relationships, Prompt Fill, Romance, Tumblr Prompt, Unrequited Love, rated mature for some chapters (not all)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 18:13:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17288933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morningsound15/pseuds/morningsound15
Summary: Assorted fills that I've been doing on Tumblr based on the prompt "send me a ship name and a 'things you said' and I'll write a mini-fic for it." Cross-posted here for ease of re-reading. Ships + prompts are in the chapter titles, and also the summaries at the beginning of each chapter.





	1. Bechloe + "when you thought I was asleep"

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently I do a lot of prompt fills now.
> 
> More tags/ships to be added later as I fill more prompts. These are an odd assortment of ships for an odd assortment of movies/shows; there's angst, there's smut, there's humor. There's everything, really.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Bechloe + "things you said when you thought i was asleep"**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter Tags:** Light Smut, Accidental Voyeurism
> 
>  **Chapter Rating:** M

It’s not a habit of hers, to pretend she’s asleep like some eleven-year-old trying not to get caught reading past lights-out. She did that a lot when she was eleven, for the record: tucked under sweltering covers with a flashlight tucked under her chin, sweating as her tent of blankets and pillows got hotter and hotter until she had to throw the covers off her head, lest she suffocate under the weight. Staying up well into the night used to feel secret, and forbidden. She liked to imagine she was the only one in the world awake, the only one who could hear the birds, or bask in the stillness.

It’s not a habit of hers. She doesn’t often pretend to be asleep. And, in all fairness, she didn’t _start off_ pretending to be asleep. A few short minutes ago she actually _was_ asleep. What a lovely, precious time that was.

What is she supposed to do, now? She can’t get up, can’t leave the room, can’t even shift around or change her breathing in case Beca… in case Beca hears—

There’s another soft moan. Chloe can hear it across the hotel room. She flushes an impossible shade of red and tries to control her breathing, keep it even and unaffected.

Jesus.

Beca shifts under her covers. Chloe thinks, if she strained her ears enough, she could probably hear the sounds of her fingers—

Jesus, _no._ She _cannot_ do that. What kind of pervert _is_ she?

It’s just… why did Beca have to do this _here?_ Why did she have to do it _tonight,_ of all nights, when they have the most important competition of their _lives_ in the morning? This is Chloe’s last chance at redemption, it’s _Aubrey’s_ last chance at redemption. If she ever found out Beca stayed up half the night trying to… _release some tension—_

Beca inhales sharply, and Chloe freezes where she lies. There’s a terrifying, panicky moment where she thinks she’s been found out, and she can already picture the mortification on Beca’s face, can already feel her own ears glowing red, as she braces for humiliation to rival all other moments of humiliation.

But Beca releases the breath a moment later, a shuddery exhale that sounds as shaky as Chloe feels.

She’s hot. She’s impossibly hot under all these blankets. She feels like a kid again, roasting in a cocoon of her own design, hoping her parents don’t poke their heads in and see the light shining through her duvet.

She’s going to boil alive here tonight, she can just feel it.

 _God,_ why did Beca have to lady jam _tonight?_ When they’re sharing a _hotel room,_ for God’s sake? How is Chloe ever supposed to look her in the eye, again?

 _Just ignore it,_ she tries to tell herself for the tenth time. _If you close your eyes, maybe you can go back to sleep._

Yeah right. Like _that’s_ going to happen. She’s never been more awake in her entire life. She’s conscious of everything, every part of her body feels like it’s lit up, like a static shock on every one of her nerve endings. She’s conscious of every sound in the room, every time her blankets rise and fall with her breathing, every time Beca shifts in her bed, every time she makes a sound low in her throat, something quiet and desperate that she can’t stop from slipping past her lips...

A louder sound, something between a squeak and a moan, that Beca quickly bites off. Beca freezes her movements for a long few moments, likely checking to make sure Chloe is still asleep.

Chloe, her cheeks pink and her eyes screwed shut, is so, _so_ grateful she decided to sleep with her back in Beca’s direction. She swallows as quietly as she can and shifts a little, just enough to make it seem like a plausible, _I’m-still-asleep-so-I’m-not-reacting-but-you-were-loud-and-almost-woke-me-up_ reaction. Her own thighs rub together and she feels an extra burn of shame when she realizes how _wet_ she is. Jesus, what is _wrong_ with her?

A few still, tense seconds pass, but Beca must deem the situation safe enough (or else she’s simply decided she doesn’t care), because a few moments later her breathing picks up again, and there are a few more telltale rustles to the bedsheets.

Chloe’s going to light herself on fire.

How are you supposed to feel when you can hear your best friend approaching orgasm just a few feet away from you? Is it something you laugh off? Are you supposed to be disgusted? Amused? Scarred for life?

She’s _pretty_ sure you’re not supposed to be _turned on._

God, she’s definitely going to hell.

Beca says something then, and Chloe holds her breath again. It was nothing, something barely-perceptible, no more coherent than a whisper. She hasn’t been caught, that’s for sure. Beca is too focused on the task at hand (no pun intended) to notice—

“Chloe.”

Chloe’s heart stops. A moment of terror, and then confusion, and then—

“Chlo,” Beca says again, quieter this time, and _holy shit Jesus Christ._

She’s saying her _name._ While she… while she—

Chloe can hear her when she climaxes. Beca seizes up where she lays, her whole body going tense and still for a moment that feels like suspended animation, before she crumples back down to the bed, her breathing heavy and belabored.

Chloe doesn’t move. She keeps her breathing even, clenches her hands into fists so they don’t shake, and tries desperately to ignore how _hot_ that just was.

She feels like a bad person. An unintentional voyeur with an unwilling participant. Definitely not something that’s supposed to happen. You aren’t supposed to listen to your friends masturbating. Not unless there are some very long conversations about consent that happen beforehand.

Then again, Beca _had_ just rubbed one out apparently thinking about _Chloe,_ so maybe they’re even, now?

“Fuck,” Beca whispers, a word so quiet Chloe thinks she might have imagined it. But then she says, a little louder, nervous, “Chloe? You awake?”

Chloe doesn’t dare move. Not one muscle. Not one eyelash. She’s petrified a tremor will rocket through her body at any moment, giving her up, but thankfully (mercifully), she holds still.

Some span of time later (it’s impossible to say how long, Chloe’s heart is beating so loudly in her ears she doesn’t think she could be aware of anything else), Beca turns onto her side. A few minutes later, her breathing evens out, and Chloe feels like she can finally exhale.

She’s quite sure she won’t be able to sleep another wink tonight. How can she? She’s so worked-up she feels like one good, well-timed breeze would be enough to shake her apart.

Maybe she should return the favor tomorrow night? Assuming everything goes well with ICCA finals, obviously. It wouldn’t be too hard. They have their hotel rooms another night, and Chloe’s got so much sexual frustration burning like so much energy through her bones, her muscles... it wouldn’t be hard to do. She’s pretty sure she could plan it pretty easily, actually. Just let Beca catch her…

No. Nope. Can’t think about that right now. Her heart can’t take it, not tonight.

One thing’s for certain: tomorrow is _definitely_ going to be interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on [ tumblr ](https://morningsound15.tumblr.com/) for more nonsense.


	2. Octaven + "with too many miles between us"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Octaven + "things you said with too many miles between us"**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter Tags:** Angst, Pining, Long-Distance Relationship
> 
>  **Chapter Rating:** G

Raven is part of the official group that is sent out to the wall to welcome the visiting Grounder party from the Northern front. Kane and Indra ride front and center, of course, leading a campaign of rugged and battle-worn soldiers behind them. They bring news from the Capitol, from the front, where the  _Trikru_ and their allies in the Coalition are currently engaged in a ruthless, long-suffering war against the Ice Nation. From what Raven has been able to gather from gossip, Council meetings, and sporadic letters from Octavia and Clarke, the  _Trikru_ seem to be making headway. Every day they push the invading Ice Nation warriors further and further from their encroachment into Woods territory. It seems like any day now, they’ll prove victorious.

Clarke is more hesitant in her assessment of the situation. She speaks often of the Commander’s turmoil, her conflicting emotions about sending her people out to their deaths. She speaks of the way the warriors seem to be waning, losing their edge, their fighting spirit. This war has raged for only three summers, but it’s been brewing for much longer. It seems impossible that the conflict will end cleanly, smoothly, or without significant military intervention.

But of course, that’s of little concern to Raven, at the moment. Right now, all she cares about is scanning the line of soldiers slowly trudging their way towards the gates of Arkadia. Abby stands at her elbow, her hands clasped in front of her. She twists her fingers together subtly, nervously, her eyes never straying from Marcus’ face.

Indra greets all of them in turn, once their horses pull to a stop in front of Arkadia’s gates. She shakes hands with Abby, then Bellamy, and finally— “Raven,” she says, holding out her arm for Raven to grasp.

“Indra.” Raven says her name with a nod of greeting, trying not to make it too obvious that she’s still blatantly staring over her shoulder. “You had a safe journey, I take it?”

Indra is perceptive. She notices anyway. “She didn’t come.”

It’s not  _surprising_ to hear, but it still cuts straight to something deep in Raven’s gut. “Oh.”

“She’s on the front,” Indra offers as explanation.

“So she couldn’t be spared?”

Indra is loyal to her soldiers, but she isn’t a liar. When she doesn’t respond, it tells Raven everything she needs to know. “I see.”

“She entrusted me with a letter.” Indra holds out a rolled piece of parchment. Raven eyes it but doesn’t immediately take it. Indra offers it again, shaking it in Raven’s direction. “For you.”

Raven takes the note from her hand slowly, reluctantly. “Thank you.”

Indra nods. Abby and Kane have already turned, are already making their way towards the Ark’s main structure to begin the scheduled debrief. They have many important things to discuss, and Indra should be with them. Raven, too, for that matter. As the lead engineer (civil, electrical, whathaveyou) for pretty much all of society on the ground, she’s become a vital voice in these discussions.

She and Indra hang back, just a moment longer. “She is well,” Indra says quietly, words meant only for Raven to hear.

Raven swallows. Her back hurts her, her leg hurts her, she hadn’t slept a wink the night before, thinking that maybe… that Octavia might have…

“I’m glad,” Raven says, and it’s a true statement, if not entirely honest.

Indra grasps her shoulder. Gives it a tight squeeze. “She speaks of you constantly. I hope you know you are never far from her mind.”

Somehow, it’s not really all that helpful.

.

.

.

.

It isn’t until much later that Raven gets a chance to read Octavia’s letter. Long after the Council meeting has ended, pleasantries and well-wishes have been exchanged. Long after the Grounder forces have set up camp around the Ark’s exterior. Long after dinner has been served, and the sun has set.

 

**_Azgeda soldiers on the front are stronger than we are._ **

 

That’s how Octavia’s letter opens.

 

**_We have numbers on them, which is why we’ve been able to do so well so far. But their soldiers are stronger, madder; they feel the inevitability of defeat, and so their savagery and desperation has only increased tenfold in recent weeks. If we have to fight them one-on-one for too much longer, we may not be able to win. We need more soldiers, more horses, more food from the Clans. If they want to subdue Azgeda, they need to take this threat seriously. Victory is not inevitable, it is only possible._ **

 

That’s… that’s essentially it. A full two pages filled end to end with strategy, battle analysis, plans for training. Octavia is someone who thinks better when she puts things to words, and she’s been known to fill an entire journal with her war mutterings, but still, Raven almost can’t believe the  _audacity_ of her. The first correspondence they’ve been able to exchange in nearly a month, and  _this_  is what Octavia has to say to her?

She flips the page over, eyes scanning quickly, not quite believing what she’s reading.

 

**_The weather is turning colder. I’m not sure if our soldiers will survive the winter; not if we have to keep pushing North. Enough will survive where we’ll probably still win this war, but too many will die. Too many widows and orphans. The Trikru are prepared; they’ve faced winters. But Trishanakru, Sangedakru, they are already shivering, complaining of the cold, and there isn’t even frost on the ground. We haven’t done enough to prepare them._ **

**_I worry about Caris, Trait, Theas. They have been from their families for too long. They grow restless to return home, and I worry more may agree—_ **

 

She can’t read any more. She can’t. How can Octavia  _think_ that— to write something like  _this—_

Raven moves to throw the paper away from her, feeling angry and disgusted and nauseous and disappointed all at once, when something hastily scribbled, some tiny phrase, catches her eye. One small phrase, buried in the middle of an endless paragraph. Octavia’s handwriting is so cramped she almost missed it.

 ** _I miss you,_** It reads. Raven brushes at her eyes, clearing her vision, and reads on.  
****

**_I miss you. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long into this letter to say it, but I didn’t know how. The words themselves are easy enough to write, but every time i think of them, of what they mean, of what they say about me and how long it’s been since we’ve seen each other, I feel like all the wind has left my body. I miss you and I don’t know what to do about it._ **

 

“You could come home,” Raven says out loud to no one but her empty room.

Hundreds of miles away, Octavia has read her mind.

 

**_You’d probably tell me I can come home whenever I want. I feel like that’s something you’d say._ **

**_But you know it isn’t that easy._ **  
****

It should be that easy. Why can’t it be?

 

**_We’ve fought about this before, and I don’t want to fight about it again. You know I can’t come back to Arkadia. Or TonDC. They aren’t home. Not for me. There are too many memories in those woods, Raven, and I know you know that. Too many ghosts, too many dead, too much I can’t go back to._ **

**_But if you ask me to come back to you, I will._ **  
****

The horrible thing is, Raven believes her. But she would never ask that of her. Of course she wouldn’t. Raven understands what it’s like for Octavia, coming home to a people who never wanted her, who criminalized her very birth, who wanted to kill her just for existing. She understands that Octavia was not meant to live in this cold, twisted metal structure like the rest of them, shepherded off away from the air and the light and the elements and the feeling of freedom, of being alive. She knows Octavia can’t look at the center yard anymore, the spot of Lincoln’s execution, without breaking down. She knows that Octavia was born for the ground and the trees and the stars.

She would never ask her to come back. Of course she never would. She knows how unbearable life here can be for her. Raven would never demand a sacrifice so great from her.

But… a little part of her had  _hoped._ Had hoped that maybe Octavia would make that decision for herself. That she’d decide, on her own, that Raven was worth the pain and the trouble. Even if just to hold her for a few nights.

But it looks like that isn’t going to happen.

 ** _I’ll be back your way when the weather turns,_** Octavia promises.  ** _I can’t wait to see you. I’m sorry I didn’t come this time._**  
****

Raven appreciates her choice of “didn’t” rather than “couldn’t.”

 

 **_You’re too good to me, Raven. I don’t deserve you._ **  
****

**_I love you. I’ll see you soon._ **

**_\- O_ **  
****

Raven sighs, the paper crumpling between her fingers. She drops it to the ground and kicks it under her cot, hoping to forget it.

She pulls it out later that night, of course. Lies on her stomach and fishes out the crumpled parchment from the dark recesses of her bedroom. She smoothes it out on the rough fabric of her jeans, taking special care not to tear or smudge any of the words.

She holds the paper to her chest later that night and cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on [ tumblr ](https://morningsound15.tumblr.com/) for more nonsense.


	3. Buffy/Faith + "when you were scared"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Buffy/Faith + "things you said when you were scared"**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter Tags:** Light Violence, Light Angst, Faith being my favorite character in the history of btvs
> 
>  **Chapter Rating:** T (for some light violence)

“Keep the line together!” Buffy screams, as loud as she can above the cacophony surrounding her. The clash of steel against steel as swords, scythes, knives hit each other, hit stone, hit flesh. Demons, Slayers, friends are everywhere; it’s impossible to pick out one from the other in the dim lighting of this cave. Sounds echo off of the stone walls, the floor, the ceiling, contributing to the unrelenting din.

“Fight them to the edge!” Buffy shouts in Violet’s direction. Violet’s teeth grit together and her knife finds a home moments later in a demon’s chest. “We can’t let them—!” Something pierces her side, and Buffy’s words drop from her mouth like a bowling ball from a skyscraper.

It feels like everything slows down. She looks down slowly and sees blood pooling against the white of her shirt. Her eyes widen, almost like she’s surprised. She tries to breathe, but the pain is getting more intense, the feeling of blood slipping down her side is getting more prominent, and she gapes and gasps but no air makes its way through. She takes a few steps forward, not quite stumbling but not quite steady.

And then—

She falls, face-first into the ground. Everything goes white, and she can’t hear the battle, anymore.

.

.

.

.

She’s not sure how much later it is when she comes-to. Maybe a minute, maybe less.

Faith’s hand is on her shoulder, shaking her. Buffy blinks her bleary eyes open and tries to focus in on her. Faith’s mouth is moving, forming words Buffy can’t hear yet. They come to her slowly, finally breaking through the fog that’s fallen over her mind, her eyes, her ears.

Faith’s voice fades in, like someone’s turning up the volume on her slowly. “—bleeding? Buffy. _Buffy!_ Where are you bleeding? What happened? Where are you hurt?”

Buffy looks up at her and grimaces as the movement pulls on her injury. She grits her teeth, tastes blood in her mouth. She thinks she might have a cut on her forehead, too, but it’s hard to say right now — everything hurts, including her head, and who knows if it’s an injury or just the feeling of her body failing her.

Faith stares back at her, eyes wide. There’s a moment that passes between them — a moment where they just  _look_ at each other. Faith, with her jean jacket and mussed hair, looks like she just came from the Bronze, rather than like she’s been fighting for her life in some demon’s underground lair. Buffy is laying on the ground, on her stomach, looking up at her, defenseless, and all Faith can do is stare back.

Buffy coughs. She uses what little strength she has left and pushes the scythe just a few more inches towards Faith. “Hold the line,” she says, her voice as weak as she feels.

Faith just looks at her, her mouth a little open, her eyes wide and terrified. She shakes her head, just a small move. Buffy lifts the scythe higher. “Faith,” she says, as seriously as she can manage, “you have to hold the line.”

“Buffy, I don’t—”

“I can’t anymore. You can do this, Faith. Hold the line.”

Faith looks down at the weapon Buffy is offering her. She hesitates just a moment longer before she takes it. Their hands brush on the metal, and Buffy feels a flare, a jolt of power, before—

Faith takes the scythe from her hands and the last of Buffy’s energy leaves her. “I’m not going anywhere,” Faith promises. “I’ll be right here, ya hear me, B? Don’t you die on me now.” She spins into a standing position, her weapon thrown in front of her in a long, sweeping arc. In her first swing she beheads two vampires. With the backswing, she gets another demon in the chest.

All through the rest of the fight, even when Buffy has gotten too weak to stand, Faith is never more than a few steps from her, battling demons and vampires and the forces of evil, keeping them away from Buffy, keeping her alive. Through it all, she promises, “I’m not leaving you. I’m not leaving.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on [ tumblr ](https://morningsound15.tumblr.com/) for more nonsense.


	4. Stacie/Beca + "when you were drunk"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Stacie/Beca + "things you said when you were drunk"**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some platonic Stacie/Beca for you all.
> 
>  **Chapter Tags:** Platonic Relationship, Alcohol, Drinking, Fluff, Light Angst
> 
>  **Chapter Rating:** T (for alcohol use)

“Beca,” Stacie says slowly, the letters slurring together. She looks unsteady where she stands, and she wobbles a little more as she takes a few stumbling steps forward. She waves her beer bottle in Beca’s direction and almost clocks her across the nose.

Beca laughs as she dodges the uncoordinated swing. “Woah there, slow down, Champ.” Beca pulls the beer bottle gently from her hands. Everyone else has long since gone home, with plenty of kisses exchanged and tight hugs goodnight and promises to get together for brunch as soon as possible. Beca’s stuck with Stacie, though, because she’d been _far_ too intoxicated to find her own way home.

“I’ll check with Bella’s sitter,” Aubrey had said quietly to Beca in the kitchen. “Maybe she can take the couch?”

And of course Beca’s gonna let her crash on her couch. Never leave a sister hanging, right? Especially not one of your Bella sisters.

“You had enough there?” she asks, hands on Stacie’s shoulders as she tries to check her eyes to see just how far-gone she really is.

Stacie nods, throws her arms around Beca’s shoulders, and hugs her tight. “Tonight was _so_ fun.”

In terms of height, Beca only really comes up to about Stacie’s sternum, so she feels a bit smothered in this embrace. Still, she pats Stacie lightly on the back until she finally lets go.

Beca shoots her an easy smile. “I’m glad you had a good time. Now, let’s get you some water and a horizontal surface that isn’t my bathroom floor. Sound good?”

“Sounds _great,_ ” Stacie says, already flopping face-first onto Beca’s couch.

Beca chuckles as she grabs a glass from the kitchen. She fills it under the tap, and snags a bottle of painkillers from the drawer to the right of the fridge before she picks her way back into the living room.

Stacie seems to have made herself comfortable. Her face is buried in one of Beca’s pillows, her hair splayed across couch cushions and her own face. Her legs are so long that her feet brush the armrest on the other side of the couch, and she has one leg bent up at the knee, her foot dangling absurdly in the air. Her arms are akimbo, one stuck under her torso and the other folded across her back.

It can’t be a comfortable position, but Stacie seems entirely unbothered. “C’mon, Drunky,” Beca says, putting a hand on Stacie’s shoulder. “You gotta sit up and drink this.”

“No,” Stacie grumbles, pushing half-heartedly at Beca’s arm.

“You’re gonna regret it tomorrow,” Beca warns. But Stacie still grumbles. So Beca compromises. “Last thing, Stace; I promise. Then bed.”

“Then bed,” Stacie repeats, and she sounds a little doubtful, but it gets her to sit up slightly nonetheless. She spills most of the water she tries to drink down her own shirt, but she manages to get a few good swallows down. Beca will re-fill her glass when she finally passes out. Hopefully this eleventh-hour moderate hydration will be enough to stave off at least _some_ of the hangover she’s sure to have tomorrow.

Once Stacie finally empties her glass (only somewhat by drinking it), she pushes it back towards Beca’s chest and flops back down onto the couch, this time on her back.

She hums a little, her eyes squinting up at the ceiling fan. “The room’s all spinny.”

“It tends to do that when you’re smashed, yeah.”

“Will it stop?”

Beca nods as she puts the cup down next to Stacie’s head, along with the bottle of Advil. “Any minute now.” She should probably get the spare trashcan from the bathroom, too. Just in case. You never know, in these cases, how the night’s going to go, and Beca would rather not have to scrub vomit off of her floor tomorrow morning.

“Rub my feet?”

Beca shoots her a look. “Stacie…”

“Pleasssseee, Beca? Pretty please?” Stacie wiggles her socked toes for good measure.

Beca rolls her eyes and sighs, but she clambers onto the couch anyway. Stacie manages to lift her legs just long enough for Beca to slip under them, before they fall down onto Beca’s lap.

“Oof,” Beca grunts with a grimace when one of Stacie’s heels clips into her stomach, but she shakes off the pain and sets to work.

A few quiet minutes pass where all Beca does is rub lightly at the soles of Stacie’s feet. She figures she only needs to do this for max five minutes — Stacie’s so sloshed she’ll probably pass out any second now. And the likelihood of her even remembering this interaction is so slight, Beca really doesn’t need to try that hard at all. Just resting her hands on Stacie’s ankles seems to be enough to convince her that Beca’s doing as she asked.

And Beca thinks that’ll be the end of it. It’s been five minutes since Stacie last spoke, and her breathing has already evened out. Beca thinks it’s probably safe for her to sneak her way back to her own bedroom. She just has to figure out how she’s going to get out from under Stacie’s legs, first.

But then, unexpectedly: “I’m afraid I’m gonna be a bad mom,” Stacie says quietly.

Beca blinks, and sits up straighter. Stacie’s legs are still thrown over her lap, so she can’t do much more than that. But still, she lays her hands on Stacie’s bare shins. “What?”

Stacie just shrugs. She has a happy little drunk smile on her face. Her eyes are closed, her head tipped back. It sways from side-to-side on the couch. Her arm rises above her head, conducting an invisible orchestra only she can hear. “My mom sucked. I’m bad at responsibility. ‘m—‘m sittin’ here drunk with you while my two-year-old’s at home with a sitter.”

Beca blinks. She doesn’t really know what to say to that. “You’re allowed to _enjoy_ yourself, Stace. Just because you’re a mom now, it doesn’t mean—”

“I think ‘m gonna mess her up,” Stacie cuts her off. It’s like she can’t fixate on the proper emotion. She oscillates between amused and somber on the turn of a dime, and Beca’s left feeling like she’s got whiplash. “I’m worried I’m gonna mess her up. I mess _everything_ up.”

“Stacie,” Beca says quietly. She starts to move, and huffs with exertion. It takes her more effort than it really should to wrangle her way out from underneath the other woman’s body. She does eventually, wiggling her way to the floor where she falls with a heavy _thump._ Stacie giggles at her, her eyes still shut tight. Beca rolls her eyes and slides along the floor until she has her face near Stacie’s. She brushes her fingers across Stacie’s cheekbones, pushing her hair out of her face. Stacie’s eyes don’t open, but they flutter a little, and she turns toward Beca’s touch.

“I don’t think you’re gonna mess your daughter up,” Bella says truthfully, her voice as soft as it’s ever been. “I think you’re gonna be a great mom. You’ll be, like… the cool, hot mom that all the other moms are jealous of at PTA meetings.”

That draws a laugh from her. “Yeah?” Stacie says, her eyes fluttering open. Her pupils are large, her eyes glassy. “Y’think so?”

“Oh, I know so.”

Stacie hums, and nuzzles a little deeper into the couch. “You’re a good person, Becs.”

“Thanks.” Beca grins. “You’re pretty okay yourself.”

Stacie hums. Her eyes blink slowly, unfocused. She shifts forward on the couch a little, her neck stretching out.

The kiss she presses to Beca’s lips is soft; unexpectedly so. Not that Beca’s spent much time thinking about kissing Stacie — the thought had never previously occurred to her — but if she _had_ thought about it, she probably would have expected it to be harder. More passionate. Maybe a little wetter.

Beca doesn’t move. She doesn’t know what to do, how to react… Should she kiss her back? Push her away? Say, _Sorry, Stace, I’m just not into you like that?_

But Stacie doesn’t give her enough time to ponder a proper response. She pulls away a second later, and immediately bursts into peals of laughter at the expression on Beca’s face. “What?” she asks through a chuckle. “You’ve ne—never kissed a girl before?”

“No I… I _have,_ it’s just—” Stacie laughs even harder, so hard her shoulders shake and she has to fall back onto the couch. This situation is apparently hilarious to her. Beca huffs. “Stop that.”

“You—you should see your _face!_ ”

“I don’t like people laughing after they kiss me! It’s rude!” But Stacie is too far gone. Beca slaps at her shoulder. “Stacie, stop!”

Stacie laughs all the harder, curled in on herself, her hands grasping at her spasming stomach.

Beca has to admit, begrudgingly, that it’s kind of infectious. She’s cracking a smile before she’s really aware of it, and a few seconds later she’s laughing, too, just as hard as Stacie.

They’re an incorrigible duo. Every time one of them tapers off their giggling fit, the other one laughs harder, and then the whole cycle starts again. Beca is breathless by the end of it, tears streaming down her face, her cheeks cramping and her sides splitting.

She’s not sure who stops first. It’s more of a slow, unnoticed de-progression than anything truly discernible. But by the end of it, they’re sitting side-by-side on Beca’s hardwood floors, backs pressed to the couch and legs folded in front of them. Their shoulders brush, and Beca takes a moment to knock Stacie’s good-naturedly.

Stacie leans her head against the top of Beca’s. “You really think I’ll be a good mom?” She asks into the empty room. She sounds significantly more sober, now. Beca’s not sure if she’s actually sobered up, or if maybe she was never really that drunk in the first place.

Beca tucks her arm through Stacie’s elbow. “I think your kid is gonna have a kick-ass mom, and a kick-ass extended family of weird aunts and big sisters. And Lilly. Lilly’ll be there, too.”

Stacie chuckles. “I always loved my aunts.”

“Aunts are the best,” Beca says back. She smiles, though they aren’t looking at each other. “You’re gonna be just fine, Stacie,” she promises, a little quieter. “You know we’re here, if you ever need anything.”

“I know. It’s just… it’s hard. I feel like I have to do it all myself or else I’ve failed. And I know that’s dumb, it’s just…” She sighs, a soft, quiet thing. “It’s hard doing it all by myself.”

“You aren’t by yourself, though. Not really.”

“Yeah.” Stacie presses a kiss to the crown of Beca’s head, right on top of her hair. “You’re right. ‘m not alone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on [ tumblr ](https://morningsound15.tumblr.com/) for more nonsense.


	5. Stacie/Beca + "things you didn't say at all"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Stacie/Beca + "things you didn't say at all"**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if the person who asked for this prompt specifically wanted angst but the prompt sort of demanded it so sorry in advance.
> 
> (Also a little Bechloe kind of maybe if you squint??)
> 
>  **Chapter Tags:** Angst, Pining, Unrequited Love, Missed Opportunities
> 
>  **Chapter Rating:** Technically G but I'd probably rate it T for sadness :(

There are a million thoughts running through her brain, right now. A million and a half, actually, is probably more accurate.

She feels like she can’t breathe. She adjusts the scarf around her throat with shaking fingers, and wipes her sweaty palms on the fabric of her shirt and hopes that they won’t leave stains.

“Breathe, Stacie,” she mutters to herself. “Just breathe. This is just a performance; you can do this. You’ve done this before.”

But it doesn’t _feel_ like just a performance. It feels like the end of… the end of _something._ An era, maybe. Her last chance at—

She brushes at the corners of her eyes, catching the tears before they even start to gather. It’s no good thinking about that, right now. Not when they have a world competition to win. This is the big leagues, and she can’t let her emotions get in the way of that.

There’s movement over her shoulder. She can see it reflected in the mirror in front of her, the mirror she’s ostensibly using to touchup her makeup. They’re set to go on next, and the backstage is bustling with women of all ages, all with the signature Bellas neck scarves tied somewhere on their person. It should be inspiring. It should fill her with pride and hope, pride at the legacy of the Bellas and hope for what the future may hold. Looking at all these women, accomplished now, and happy with their lives, financially stable enough to fly all the way to _Europe_ for a last-minute performance…

It’s hard to think of _hope_ and _the future_ right now, though. Not when everything just feels like it’s ending.

She catches movement in the mirror. She doesn’t want to look — she hasn’t historically been a nosy person — but she can’t help it.

Beca and Chloe are standing off in some far corner, heads bent close together, going over the game plan one last time. They look excited, thrumming with nervous energy. Chloe throws her arms around Beca’s shoulders and squeezes her tightly, her face bright with anticipation, and Stacie feels her stomach churn and she has to look away, her ears and cheeks burning.

Only a moment later Beca calls them all to the wings. “Bellas, you’re on in five,” some PA says, walking by them with his clipboard tucked under his arm and his headphones around his neck, looking frazzled and as nervous as Stacie feels.

There’s a chorus of “Thank you, five”s, before Beca starts in on her speech. She always gives one before a big performance. Stacie has a suspicion that at least 30% of the reason she stayed in the Bellas is because she gets to give a great, movie-ending speech every couple of months. She really seems to milk it for all it’s worth, every time she gets the chance to–

“Yo, Stace,” Beca says, breaking into her internal monologue. Stacie shakes herself, tries to smile and look casual. Beca looks at her a little strangely. “You good, dude?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

Things she doesn’t say but could have said (to the rest of the Bellas): _I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself when we all graduate. Seeing you all with plans for the future is great, it’s amazing, I’m so happy for all of you, but it just makes me feel like I’m floundering. I don’t know who I am if I’m not here, if I don’t have people around me constantly. And I don’t know who I’m going to be if I don’t get to see all of you every single day. I’m worried I’m going to turn out like my mother, that I’m going to wind up in a loveless marriage and some dead-end job in the middle of nowhere, stuck raising six kids and going on field trips to the zoo and to PTA meetings instead of doing anything great, huge, globally impactful._

Things she doesn’t say and never, not in a million years, could she have _ever_ said (to Beca in particular): _I think at some point I had the chance to be someone who matters in your life, someone you think about and talk to and confide in, and I’m not sure when that was or how I missed it, but I can’t help feeling that I_ ** _have_** _missed it. I’ve been harboring something that might be a crush or might be hero-worship or might be love for you for four years, and I’ve never said anything about it and now I never will. I don’t know why we aren’t closer. I don’t know why I’m a background actor, a bit-character in the story of your life, but I hate it and it makes me sick and it makes me want to scream and rip my hair out but now it’s all I have. I don’t know when I became a cliché, falling for someone who will never give me the time of day, but now I’m here and I hate it more than I ever thought I would._

What she does say: “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

Beca smiles back at her. She has no idea what it does to Stacie’s stomach, to her organs, the way it makes everything inside her twist up on itself uncomfortably, painfully. Like hunger cramps, except so much worse. Impossibly worse.

“Great,” Beca says, clapping her hands together. She turns back to the group. “You know the drill, ladies. This is the last one; the _big_ one. Let’s go out there and sing our hearts out.” She looks at each of them in turn, her eyes slowly filling with tears. “I love you, awesome nerds.”

Chloe slips her hand into Beca’s and squeezes. “‘Bellas’ on three?”

They put their hands in the middle of the circle, and Stacie feels numb. They do their chant, and Stacie doesn’t hear it.

Stacie swallows the bile in her throat and follows the others out on stage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on [ tumblr ](https://morningsound15.tumblr.com/) for more nonsense.


	6. Bechloe + "after you kissed me"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Bechloe + "things you said after you kissed me"**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cute Christmas fluff!
> 
>  **Chapter Tags:** First Kiss, Fluff, Cute People Falling in Love and Me Being Excited About It
> 
>  **Chapter Rating:** G

Beca has said a lot of dumb things in her life. She’s sort of prone to it, like some embarrassing, self-destructive habit she can’t kick. Like biting her fingernails (which she did compulsively from the ages of 10-19, until she started lathering nail polish on every other day to stop permanently damaging her cuticles).

It’s par for the course, with her. The first time her first boyfriend said “I love you” to her, she smiled back at him, pained and panicky and most assuredly _not_ reciprocally in love and said, slowly, “…Cool.” That relationship, absolutely no one will be surprised to learn, didn’t last much longer.

But it’s not just her knee-jerk reaction to uncomfortable romantic situations. She has a perpetual case of foot-in-mouth disease. She once told a guy she knew in high school that his band actually kind of sucked; their music was pedestrian and cliché and overworked. They had been friends, sort of, before that, but he had looked close to tears halfway through her sentence and she _still_ hadn’t been able to stop herself from finishing her thought. He never talked to her again.

She once called her stepmother “Step Monster” _to her face._ Which is just… appalling. Beca can have all the private opinions she wants, but Rosemary is actually a pretty nice lady, at the end of the day (despite the fact that she’s unfortunately named ‘Rosemary’, but that’s a curse she didn’t put on herself, so Beca can’t really hold it against her), and her father could certainly do much worse.

She’s cursed to perpetually say stupid, ill-timed, moronic, offensive things. She has no filter when it matters. It’s why she got into so many fights with Aubrey her first year at Barden — Aubrey is as stubborn as Beca is, but _she,_ at least, knows when it’s time to just shut her mouth and let someone else take charge. Somewhere along the way in her development, Beca never learned that skill.

So it makes sense that, the first time Chloe kisses her, Beca makes an absolute ass of herself.

It’s a _really_ nice kiss, too, which makes Beca’s response all the more humiliating. Chloe is standing in front of her, looking beautiful with her nose brushed red from the cold. She has snowflakes caught in her eyelashes, and Beca feels like she’s landed in the middle of a movie, a romantic comedy wherein she’s both the leading lady and the leading lady’s love interest.

Chloe’s lips taste like vanilla chapstick. Her breath is sweet and warm, her gloved hands are impossibly soft where they rest on Beca’s shoulders. She smiles into the kiss, and Beca forgets how to breathe.

They pull apart a moment later, and it takes Beca a few seconds to blink her eyes back open. She feels like she’s been hit over the head. Maybe that’s why she has so much trouble forming a coherent sentence. (Maybe it’s just her curse in action.)

“Woah. Um… thanks.” Beca grimaces. She feels a blush erupt immediately over her cheeks and hopes, privately, that the earth will open up and swallow her whole. “I mean… I wasn’t expecting a kiss. To—for us to kiss.Thank you for, um… that.”

Any time now, earth. Just crack down the middle and take her away from here. Back a bitch up, please.

Chloe, by some strange miracle, seems to find it _charming._ She laughs and uses the thumb of her mittens to brush some snow out of Beca’s hair. “You’re cute,” she says, instead of _Yikes why did I ever think you were worth talking to,_ which Beca thinks is very generous of her.

Beca clears her throat and glances away. She’s still standing _so_ close to Chloe, and it’s making the back of her neck itch. She doesn’t really do well with personal space. There’s no room for error when someone else can count the number of freckles on your cheeks.

“Hey,” Chloe says softly. She uses one of her hands to pull Beca’s head slowly back towards her. She frowns a little, concerned. “Are you okay? I’m sorry about kissing you without permission. I’ll ask, next time.”

Beca’s breath catches in her throat. “Next time?”

Chloe laughs. It sounds like a Christmas bell ringing. Somewhere, Beca thinks, an angel is getting its wings. “Well, you know I’m not really a one kiss kind of lady. That one was nice and all, but I think we can top it with more practice.”

Beca licks her lips, her eyes locked on Chloe’s mouth. “You don’t need to ask.”

Chloe’s mouth quirks up in a half-smile. “Yeah?”

Beca nods. “Yeah.”

“You sure?”

“Just kiss me, Chloe, Jesus.”

Chloe laughs, her head tipped back. They’re standing under a streetlight; like literally, you could not _script_ a cheesier scene. It’s winter, nighttime and so cold their breath freezes the second it comes out of their mouths, big puffs of white air. They’re both a little pink in the cheeks from a night out drinking, because they wanted to have their own little Christmas celebration a few days early. Chloe’s wearing a floppy hat that covers her ears, and it’s so cute it almost makes Beca feel a little nauseous (but mostly she’s just smitten). There’s a thin layer of snow on the ground, it crunches underfoot when they walk, and more flakes drift slowly down around them. There’s no one around — it’s too late and cold for most people to be out and about; they’re all cuddled under blankets in front of fires, like smart people who don’t want to get frostbite because they’re making out in the middle of a December night (when it’s _snowing,_ too, no less).

Beca’s never really been one for clichés, but fuck it, if it’s Chloe she’s kissing, she’ll live through a thousand of them, and she’ll do it happily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on [ tumblr ](https://morningsound15.tumblr.com/) for more nonsense.


	7. Stacie/Beca + "under the stars and in the grass"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Stacie/Beca + "things you said under the stars and in the grass"**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More romance!
> 
>  **Chapter Tags:** Mentions of Homophobia, but mostly Fluff, Romance, Teasing, Stacie and Beca go to Beca's cousin's wedding and things get tense and weird and then cute
> 
>  **Chapter Rating:** G

It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dark. The glow from her uncle’s farmhouse is casting weird, distorted shadows for twenty feet in every direction, stretching all the way around the house and into the surrounding yard. Not that the light helps her see very far – his property is huge, and his land extends much farther than the glow from the house’s windows can reach. There’s a pool some fifty feet to the left, the tip of the inlet where the house has been built can be found maybe 70 yards ahead, and there’s a dock with a sailboat tied to one of the pylons, tapping lightly against the wood of the dock with each swell of the water, that’s just outside the light’s perimeter. There are crop fields around the front of the house, wheat and soy and corn, and a gravel driveway that stretches out a full mile before it hits the tiny side road that leads down to this part of the Bay. The only sounds that aren’t emanating from the house behind her are the crickets, which are releasing a low hum that dips and swells with the wind, a wall of buzzing that serves to both annoy and relax in equal measure.

She sees a shadow towards the left, at the farthest edge of the light, something large and dark that seems to be holding itself very still. Beca picks her way across the grass slowly, allowing her steps to fall steadily so as not to surprise the figure in front of her. The last thing she wants to do is sneak up on her unexpectedly.

“There you are.”

Stacie, where she lays on the ground, doesn’t turn her head. “I’m sorry,” she says right away, not taking her eyes off the constellations above her. “I didn’t mean to abandon you. I just had to get out of there.”

Beca is silent as she sits down next to her. She crosses her legs, and her splayed knee presses against Stacie’s shoulder. The grass is cool beneath them, a little damp on their skin. The night is relatively cool as well, unusual for this part of Maryland this late in the summer, but that’s probably down to their close proximity to the water. Stacie’s knees dangle off the pool deck, her legs submerged in the water up to her shins. The lights inside the pool are on, casting a faint, eerie, golden-blueish-green gleam over everything in the vicinity. Stacie’s skin glows with it.

“I’m sorry,” Beca says. Apparently it’s her turn to apologize, now.

“It’s okay, Becs,” Stacie assures. “Really. I’m fine, it was just… starting to get kind of intense.”

“When I told them I was bringing my girlfriend as my plus one they said they were fine with it. Really, they _promised_ to be chill. Even my aunt Barb, and she’s _notoriously_ the craziest one in the family.” Beca shakes her head, her chin hanging low to her chest. “God, I’m _so_ sorry, I can’t believe they—”

But Stacie just shrugs it off. “Trust me, Beca: I’ve heard worse.”

Beca sighs again. She shifts on the ground, lowers her body so she’s laying perpendicular to Stacie. She rests her had against Stacie’s shoulder and joins her in looking up at the night sky. “We don’t have to stay,” Beca says quietly. “We can leave whenever we want. I don’t even _like_ my cousins that much, and Ryan in particular sucks. Skipping his wedding is—”

But Stacie shakes her head. “They’re your family. And we’re only here for another two days.” Stacie turns her head and smiles down at Beca, her chin brushing the crown of Beca’s head. Beca twists her own neck so that they can make eye contact. Stacie’s eyes seem to shine under the light of the moon (or maybe thanks to the light emanating from the pool. Beca is enraptured either way).

“I’m sorry,” Beca says, because she feels the need to say it again. This _really_ hadn’t gone the way she’d planned. She figured her family would be a little weird about meeting Stacie for the first time — despite the fact that they’ve been together more than two years, Beca has been reluctant to introduce her to the wider Holloway clan (Beca’s extended family on her mom’s side). Who knew her weirdly-estranged cousins who live in the boondocks of the Eastern Shore of Maryland would be pretty openly homophobic?

Well, _Beca_ definitely knew. And she probably could have guessed this would be their reaction. Still, they didn’t have to bring Stacie’s personal life into it. Beca would have been fine politely ignoring all the sly, subtle digs about her ‘alternative lifestyle’ and ‘rebellious phase’ that her overly-involved relatives seem determined to get in before the rehearsal dinner has ended. But dragging Stacie into their weird issues was entirely uncalled for.

“You’ve already apologized,” Stacie reminds her, which doesn’t exactly make the sick feeling in Beca’s gut go away, but it _does_ make her believe that Stacie isn’t about to break up with her over this.

Still.

“Still,” she says, turning her attention skyward again. “I know my family can be kind of crazy. My mom… she can be pretty out of it. And my brother is _such_ an ass—”

“You don’t have to keep apologizing.” Stacie drops her hand to rest on Beca’s shoulder, and she squeezes tightly. “I understand; family sucks.”

“I never wanted them to make you uncomfortable.”

“Eh,” Stacie sounds a little unconvinced, “I don’t know if I was really _uncomfortable._ I just… that kind of stuff doesn’t really bother me, y’know? People have been making snide comments about me since middle school. Your grandma insinuating I’m a slut who’s only using you for your money — hilarious, by the way, you’re poorer than me right now — doesn’t exactly _wound_ my ego.”

“It isn’t fair. She doesn’t even know you.”

“Everyone’s got weird conservative relatives,” Stacie says, unbothered. “Homophobic grandparents are kind of a norm, y’know. You’ve met my granddad.”

“Yeah, he called me your ‘queer roommate’ for all of Thanksgiving dinner.”

Stacie laughs. “Isn’t this better than that?”

Beca reaches up and takes Stacie’s hand. She threads their fingers together, her thumb brushing lightly against the palm of Stacie’s hand, tickling the smooth, soft skin there. “Not if it makes you uncomfortable,” she says quietly, seriously. And she means it. She’d go through a thousand weird Thanksgiving dinners with Stacie as long as it stopped her from getting insulted by Beca’s unfortunate extended family.

Stacie shakes her head. “I’m not uncomfortable. I promise. It doesn’t faze me anymore. I’m hot, I like my body, and I like having sex. Yeah, your brother’s an ass, and yeah, your cousin’s family is a little rude, but it’s nothing I haven’t heard before.”

Beca quirks her head up. She ends up looking mostly at Stacie’s chin, and her cheek. Stacie’s eyes are a bright point in the otherwise dark surroundings. “So then why’d you leave?”

She gets a shrug in response. “Family stuff weirds me out. My family doesn’t really… _talk_ to each other. Seeing other families fight has always made me feel weird. Plus, y’know… tensions are high. What with the wedding tomorrow.” She shrugs again. “I would just rather ignore the messiness inside and sit out here instead.”

“And look at the stars?”

“Yeah. I like the stars.”

Beca turns her attention skyward again. After a few moments, she hums. “It _is_ pretty peaceful.”

“No fights, no drunk uncles, no smells of burning appetizers.”

Beca has to laugh at that. “ _God,_ Barb really can’t cook for shit.”

“I _also_ have an aunt who thinks she can cook but definitely can’t, so I feel your pain.” Stacie turns her head and presses a light kiss to Beca’s temple. “We’re _definitely_ going smaller for our wedding, though.”

“Oh yeah?” Beca teases. “We’re getting married, now?”

“Oh please.” Beca can’t see it, but she can just _picture_ Stacie rolling her eyes. “ _I’m_ not the one who insisted on leaving our engagement rings at home in case my crazy cousin Janine ‘gets super jealous and tries to cut our hair off in our sleep.’”

“Hey, that’s happened in this family before before, and Freddie’s engagement broke up the next week. So really I’m protecting us, babe.”

“Oh sure, make it seem like it’s about _my_ safety.”

Beca flexes her fingers a little. She pulls their hands apart slightly, far enough so she can press their fingertips together. She opens and closes her hand, stretching their fingers but always making sure to keep all five touching, always connected, before she slips them together again, running her thumb over Stacie’s knuckles. “Does that bother you? That I… didn’t want to tell people, yet?”

“No,” Stacie says, and she sounds truthful. At least to Beca’s ears. “I like keeping it to ourselves; at least for now.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah. I like that we still have some time to enjoy it. As soon as we tell your mom she’s gonna start planning the wedding like we’re getting married that week.”

“And you know _Chloe’s_ gonna freak we didn’t tell her first thing.”

“Oh, obviously.” Beca can hear the smile in Stacie’s voice. “Are you sure you’re alright with having a wife who’s so much taller than you, though?”

“I think so,” Beca says, playing along. “I mean, basketball players’ wives deal with it fine I think.” Stacie reaches over and swats her on the shoulder. Beca laughs, and continues: “And you might not be as rich, but you’re _much_ hotter than LeBron James, so I’m sure I won’t suffer _too_ much.”

“You’re an ass.”

“Speaking of asses, you know if things don’t work out with us you could always go date my brother.”

“ _Beca_ —”

“What?” She asks innocently. “He’s been staring at your ass all night.”

Stacie rolls her eyes as she flips over. She shifts just enough so that her torso hovers above Beca’s, her hips pressing Beca’s into the grass. She quirks an eyebrow down at her as Beca tries to look innocent. “You’re _really_ jealous about that? I _told you_ he’s an ass.”

“I’m not jealous,” Beca says, with an impossibly serious face. “I just want what’s best for you, baby. He’s closer to your height, and looks a lot like me, too. Some might even call him an upgrade.”

Stacie leans down and presses a deep, nearly bruising kiss to Beca’s lips. It quite effectively shuts her up.

There are no sounds around them except the summer air, the rustling of the breeze off the Bay filtering through the thickly-leaved trees, the sound of chlorinated water lapping against the sides of the pool. When Stacie pulls away a moment later her hands come up to Beca’s temples, tenderly pushing her hair back. Her fingernails scratch lightly at Beca’s scalp, and Beca closers her eyes and leans into the sensation.

“I’m crazy about you,” Stacie murmurs.

Beca smiles lazily, suddenly more than a little sleepy. “Oh, good. I was worried we were in trouble.”

“I _really_ don’t like your family, though. Is that a deal breaker?”

Beca opens her eyes and grins. “Nah, just something else we have in common.”

Stacie glances towards the main house. Beca can hear voices rising, slowly seeping out of the kitchen. Something crashes — a pan falling to the ground? — and Beca can hear the faint sounds of her uncle’s irate and drunken cursing over the ensuing din. A dog barks, somewhere upstairs, and Beca can _already_ feel a headache coming on.

Stacie pulls a face. “Think we should go back in and make sure everyone’s alright?”

Beca laces her fingers together over Stacie’s shoulders, cupping the back of her neck. She pulls her slightly down, forcing Stacie’s attention back to her. “I think we can wait a little longer, don’t you?”

Stacie’s eyes flit down to Beca’s mouth. She bites her lower lip, clearly torn. “Maybe you’re right,” she says slowly. “I mean, we don’t want there to be _too_ many cooks in the kitchen. We’ll just contribute to the confusion”

“Freddie and Janine are set to blow up at each other any minute now.”

“And the stars _are_ lovely tonight…”

They grin at each other, and Stacie dips her head again, claiming Beca’s lips softly with her own. The sounds from inside the house fall away, and for a few minutes they can pretend that they’re the only two people on earth, wrapped up in each other so closely that nothing else matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on [ tumblr ](https://morningsound15.tumblr.com/) for more nonsense.


End file.
